


revive

by ultalumna (yujael)



Series: weightless, weightless [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, Gen, Wing Grooming, Wings, just generally having a chill time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-01 08:50:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18332699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yujael/pseuds/ultalumna
Summary: Prompto is... not used to this. Having someone else looking at his wings, let alone touching. But he's safe. He's safe with Noctis.





	revive

“Man,” Noctis sighs from behind Prompto. It’s the sound of someone who’s looking at the road before them and just now realizing how long it is.

Prompto wraps his arms around his knees and ducks his head down to hide his flushed cheeks. “Yeah, I know. They’re super messy compared to--”

“No, no,” Noctis cuts him off. “Look--don’t worry, Prom. Specs and I can totally help.”

Prompto looks at him doubtfully. He tries to, anyway. The view over his shoulder is blocked by white and gold feathers, a sight that he is so not used to. By the time Prompto manages to twist himself around far enough to see past his own wing, Noctis sees more of his chagrin than outright doubt.

“You really think so?”

Noctis nods confidently. “Definitely. Specs has been helping me out since I was little, so you know he’s good for it. You just need some magic fingers and something that isn’t…” he pauses to cast the look of complete disdain that he usually reserves for vegetables at Prompto’s discarded harness on the bed. “That.”

Prompto snorts, even though Noctis’ much more comfortable looking harness comes to mind. “Okay, sure. Lemme run down to my nearest department store and get right on that.”

Noctis makes a dismissive noise. “Nah, just let Ignis handle it. That’s what the measurements were for. It’ll feel way better, promise. Doctor’s word and everything.”

Noctis’ word alone is enough to soothe Prompto’s worry, although he tenses once he processes Noctis’ response fully. “Wait, a doctor? Do, um--do people know?” he asks nervously.

“About me or about you?” Noctis asks nonchalantly.

“Uh, both, I guess?”

Because they’re the same, right? Sort of? They both have wings, something nobody is supposed to have. They’re both. Different. And sure, Ignis and Gladio definitely know and do their best to keep the secret. And Noct’s dad probably knows, too, because, uh, he’s a dad. But who else?

Noctis sits back against his heels and looks at the ceiling as he counts on his fingers. “Uh. My old man. My doctor. Because, y’know, when your kid’s born with wings, the other people in the room kinda know about it, too. The midwife. But she’s dead now, so--”

“ _Dead_ ,” Prompto squawks.

“She was old!” Noctis exclaims before Prompto’s train of thought can spiral any further. “She died of old age! We didn’t kill her off!”

Prompto slumps down in relief. His wings splay out, too, until the feathers hit Noct’s closet door and bend uncomfortably, at which point Prompto hauls them back around his shoulders. It takes a moment to get them right. When he was a kid, it all felt natural to him. He never had trouble moving them around. Now, though, they’ve been bound for so long that if they aren’t locked against his back he hardly knows what to do with them. He tries to mimic Noctis’ relaxed posture, but the muscles in his wings start to ache quickly and he’s forced to let them droop again.

Noctis watches the entire display with a small pout. “Luna knows, too,” he continues, trying to keep an even tone. “It’s only a few people. And we haven’t said anything about you--Ignis, Gladio, and I, I mean. Only we know about you.”

He touches Prompto’s shoulder, just near the edge of his wing. The contact makes Prompto shiver--someone else’s hand on his bare shoulder feels almost like an intrusion. He should shake it off. He should _hide_. Nobody is supposed to--

He shakes the feeling away. Noctis is like him. He’s safe. His hand is warm, too. His feathers are soft and smooth when they brush Prompto’s leg, curving around them loosely. Comforting.

Noctis wants to be here, even after learning Prompto’s secret-- _especially_ after. Ignis and Gladio, too, even though they’re not here at the moment. They’re out getting the supplies to make Prompto a nicer harness. Ignis had looked ready to call upon Ramuh himself to smite Prompto when he’d made a single pitiful attempt to imply that they didn’t need to do so. So. There’s that.

“Can I try?” Noctis asks finally, crawling slowly to Prompto’s back again.

Right. The other reason Prompto’s here, huddled on Noctis’ bedroom floor, blinds drawn in the middle of a Saturday afternoon.

He can feel Noctis’ hands hovering over him, one near his spine, the other near his left wing. His wing twitches before anything else even happens, unused to the simple concept of someone else touching him.

Prompto tries his best with them, but no matter what Noctis says he’s still spent most of his time hiding his wings, not daring to try to make them look nice because they never  _were_. No one was ever supposed to see this, this messed up part of him. But Noctis is looking now--and Noctis isn’t messed up. His wings aren’t messed up. His wings are gorgeous, dazzling to look at, even in the electric white light of his bedroom.

Prompto struggles to think of his as the same, especially when they’re like this. Ragged. Damaged. Cut.

Something that someone else wants to touch.

Ignis and Gladio have offered to help, though. Noctis is offering to help. And Noctis is an actual prince, so if anyone has the power to smite Prompto if he tries to run off, it’s him. Not that Prompto wants to run away from him.  

“Okay,” he says, throat dry. He spreads his wings out a little, listening to the feathers skating across the floor, to give Noctis some room to work with. He swallows and laughs a little. “You said you had magic fingers, so let’s see ‘em.”

“Actually, Ignis is the one with magic fingers, but I’m good, too,” Noctis says as he settles close to Prompto’s back and puts a gentle hand on Prompto’s left wing. The whole thing twitches almost violently away from him, almost on instinct, but he isn’t deterred. “It’s fine,” he says as Prompto bites out an apology. “Just relax.”

“I am relaxed,” Prompto says. “Totally relaxed. The most chill.”

Noctis hums. His hands follow Prompto’s wing, steady against his feathers on both sides of the wrist joint, then the elbow. His fingers ghost along, simply moving feathers around at first, smoothing them out over the thick down underneath.

“Let’s start down here,” he murmurs, right before his fingers press in just above the elbow. Prompto gasps and then tries to swallow it down, but he’s pretty sure Noctis hears it. Noctis makes no comment either way, his focus entirely on the feathers between his fingers.

His hands move quickly, delicately, as his nails run along each feather, tugging the tangled barbs apart and smoothing them back out again. His fingers dig in slightly along the shaft before running the entire length of the feather and smoothing the whole thing out, moving on to the next one. Over and over. Tug, smooth, press.

Prompto leans forward slightly to rest his cheek against the edge of Noctis’ bed, extending his wing slightly so that Noctis doesn’t have to move. He doesn’t want Noctis to move. The tension in his shoulders is melting away the longer Noctis works, the sensations unbelievably soothing. How does this feel so good? Someone else touching his wings, fixing them up, using a level of dexterity Prompto hardly realized Noctis even had before.

It’s everything Prompto tries to do to keep them tidy and manageable under his clothes--except way, way better.

He sniffs and moves his face so that he isn’t getting any gross marks on Noctis’ bedspread. And, of course, that’s what Noctis notices.

“Are you okay?” he asks, fingers pausing, lifting away.

Prompto bolts upright, his wing pressing back, seeking warmth again. “Yeah! I’m fine! I--yeah, buddy--”

“But you’re gonna tell me if you’re not, right?” Noctis asks, still uncertain.

“Yeah, I will.” Prompto peeks over his shoulder. He’s not gonna say a damn thing except, “You can, um, keep going? Please?”

Noctis smiles, wide and enthusiastic like Prompto had just challenged him to a beat his high score in the arcade or told him he’d be going on the fishing vacation of his life. Instead of any of that, Noctis is reaching toward Prompto’s wing again, working through white and gold feathers with deft fingers.

And then, a few moments later, just when Prompto thinks that nothing more of the unthinkable can happen--

\--he falls asleep, lulled to rest by the warmth at his back and Noctis’ fingers, tender on his wings. Safe.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so glad so many people like wing aus. I just [clenches fist] love them so much. Love wings, love the preening trope, love friends loving each other.
> 
> Who knows where this will go in the future. For now, we're on the Chill Train, rolling along when I need a break from writing fully fleshed out chapters for "breathe, breathe," and other assorted stresses. All I know for certain is that sonebody's gonna get smooched eventually, probably.


End file.
